The police sirens wailed like distant ghosts as I bundled Mia out the back door of the toy store, her small hand clutched in mine. Snowflakes melted on my blood-smeared coat, turning the red stains into watery pink smears. She didn't cry. Didn't scream. Just looked up at me with those big eyes, the wrapped music box tucked under her arm like nothing had happened. "Eli," she whispered as we slipped into the alley, "did the song make you do it?"
I froze, breath catching in my throat. The Aether hummed softly in my veins, sated for now, a low purr like a cat after a meal. "What song, Mia?"
She tilted her head, curls bouncing. "The one in your head. The Christmas one. I heard it too. Just a little. When you… when everyone fell asleep."
Fell asleep. Gods, the innocence in that. I pulled her close, scanning the shadows for cameras or witnesses. The store's alarm blared behind us, but we'd been quick—too quick. My body knew how to move in the dark, how to avoid the lights. Training from Apex Veil, twisted into something monstrous.
We made it home before the news hit. Mom was waiting in the kitchen, stirring hot cocoa on the stove, the radio playing soft holiday tunes. She took one look at us—my stained hands, Mia's wide-eyed silence—and her face went pale. Not shocked. Not horrified. Just… resigned.
"Elias," she said quietly, turning off the burner. "What happened?"
I collapsed into a chair, head in my hands. Blood flaked off my skin like rust. Mia set the gift under the tree and climbed onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. "It's okay, Mommy. Eli protected me. The song made him strong."
Mom knelt in front of us, her hands steady, always steady, cupping my face. "Tell me everything."
I did. The speakers. The blackout. The kills every grueling detail spilling out like poison. The way the clerk's wrist snapped. The mother's ribs giving under the blade. The teenager's face crumbling. The employee's eyes bursting. I choked on the words, tears burning tracks down my cheeks. "I didn't… I couldn't stop. It was like I was watching someone else wear my body. And Mia… it spared her. Like she was part of it."
Mom listened without flinching. When I finished, she stood and poured the cocoa into mugs, adding extra marshmallows for Mia. The normalcy of it felt obscene. "Your father," she said finally, voice soft as falling snow. "He had the song too. After the war. We never told you, but I knew. Every Christmas, when that damn carol played… he'd disappear for hours. Come back with blood on his boots. Said it kept the mountains quiet."
I stared at her. "You knew?"
She nodded, eyes distant. "At first I thought it was the trauma. The Aether bleed they talked about in the reports. But it got worse. He'd wake up screaming the lyrics. And then… the killings started. Strangers mostly. People no one would miss right away. He said it fed the thing inside him. Kept it from turning on us."
Mia sipped her cocoa, legs swinging. "Like feeding Shadow so he doesn't scratch the furniture?"
Mom's laugh was brittle, but real. "Something like that, sweetheart." She met my gaze, fierce now. "We helped him, Elias. Your father and I. We'd find ways to… bring them in. Quietly. So he could stay with us. Stay sane."
The room spun. "Helped? You mean…"
"Lured them," she confirmed. No shame. Just quiet determination. "Delivery men who came alone. Neighbors who wandered too close. We'd make it look like accidents after. Robberies gone wrong. Anything to keep the family together. Because without it, the song would take him completely. And then us."
I pushed back from the table, heart pounding. "No. This isn't… I won't drag you into this."
Mia's hand found mine. Small, warm. "But we need you, Eli. You're our protector. Like Daddy was."
The words hit like a blade. Protector. The same lie I'd told myself when I signed up for Apex Veil. Now it twisted into something dark, inevitable. The Aether stirred under my skin, a gentle reminder. It wasn't hungry anymore, not after the store but it would be again. Next year. Or sooner, if the song played wrong.
That night, after Mia went to bed with her new music box (Jingle Bells only, thank gods), Mom and I sat by the tree. The lights twinkled mockingly, casting red and green shadows across the room. "We can't run from it," she said. "Your father tried. Locked himself in the basement one Christmas. By morning, the door was splintered, and he was gone for days. Came back with stories that didn't match the news reports of missing people."
I rubbed my temples, the faint hum still there. "How did you… lure them?"
She leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "Simple things. A classified ad for a cheap room rental. A lost dog flyer with our number. People are lonely around the holidays. Desperate. They come willingly if you smile right."
The practicality chilled me more than the kills. This was my mother—the woman who'd baked cookies for school fundraisers, who'd held me through Dad's funeral. Now she spoke of murder like meal planning.
By Christmas morning, the news was everywhere: "Holiday Horror: Massacre at Downtown Toy Store." Fourteen dead. No survivors except "possible witnesses who fled the scene." Security footage mysteriously corrupted, maybe the Aether's doing, or just bad luck. Police baffled. Community in shock.
Mia opened her gifts with squeals of delight, oblivious or pretending. I watched her, the hollow in my eyes reflecting back from the shiny wrapping paper. When she hugged me, I held on too tight, whispering, "I won't let it hurt you."
She pulled back, serious. "I know. But you have to eat, Eli. Like Mommy said."
Eat. The word hung there, innocent and grotesque.
That afternoon, while Mia napped off her sugar high, Mom pulled out an old notebook from Dad's things. yellowed pages filled with neat handwriting. Dates. Names. Methods. "He kept track," she explained. "To make sure it didn't overlap with patterns the police might notice."
I flipped through it, stomach churning. "This is insane."
"Is it?" She touched my arm. "Or is it survival? The song needs blood, Elias. And if we don't feed it on our terms, it'll take what it wants. Like it almost did today."
The logic wormed in, cold and undeniable. By evening, we'd placed our first ad online, anonymously, through a burner account. "Room for rent: Cozy apartment, holiday special. Available immediately. Call for details."
The calls started trickling in that night. Lonely voices. Desperate ones. A college kid stranded after a breakup. A salesman in town for one night. We screened them carefully, no families, no ties that screamed too loud.
The first one came two days later. A man in his thirties, rumpled suit, sad eyes. "Just need a place for the week," he said at the door. Mom smiled, invited him in for coffee. Mia played in her room, door cracked just enough to watch.
I felt the Aether stir as he sat at the kitchen table, chatting about the weather. No song playing—just the quiet hunger building since the store. Mom slipped something into his drink, sleeping pills from Dad's old stash. He slumped forward minutes later.
The kill was clean. Private. I dragged him to the basement, the knife from the store still in my coat pocket. One cut across the throat—deep, arterial spray painting the concrete. He gurgled once, eyes pleading, then nothing. The Aether drank it in, the hum quieting to a contented sigh.
Mom helped clean up. Mia brought down trash bags without being asked. "Is he sleeping now?" she asked innocently.
"Yeah," I lied. "Forever."
We buried him in the woods that night, under fresh snow. No one would look for a drifter until spring, if ever.
As we drove home, silent except for the crunch of tires on ice, I glanced at Mom. "How long can we do this?"
She squeezed my hand. "As long as it takes. We're family, Elias. We protect each other."
But later, in my room I cried alone. Because deep down, part of me liked the quiet it brought.
And that scared me a lot more than the blood ever could.